Growth
by P-3a
Summary: Anduin Wrynn has the honour of watching the young dragon Prince Wrathion's accelerated physical development. [Originally published November 2013.]
1. Chapter 1

"I'm fairly sure he's somewhere in the tavern. Just keep looking."

Anduin Wrynn felt guilty to be idling at the jihui board with Left and Right so obviously in a panic, and Wrathion so obviously missing. They'd checked the obvious places - the roof, the Folly, even the little dig-out underneath the tavern where he'd been found once after a particularly loud thunderstorm, covered up to his neck in dirt. The dragon had claimed, of course, that he'd been doing something /other/ than cowering in fear from the loud noises. Nobody had been fooled.

But Anduin had been instructed to stay put, by both his guards and the Blacktalons. Nobody needed /him/ getting lost in the confusion, too, and on the off-chance someone /had/ kidnapped the Black Prince, they'd no doubt be interested in taking Anduin, too. He'd fought down the urge to argue that he wasn't a child, and could take care of himself in the event of any altercation, thank you very much, and instead seated himself obediently by the jihui board and waited. It's not like he would have enjoyed walking around anyway. It was raining outside, and his leg hurt.

A rustling by his side caught his attention. At first he thought it was a tanuki or something that had weaselled its way inside out of the rain and begin rooting around his things; but when he turned to look, he saw, instead, twin pairs of curved horns protruding from the bag of his things that he'd brought downstairs, followed by a little face.

"...Wra-"  
"Shh!" The dragon whelp dipped his head back into the bag; Anduin sighed heavily and made out like he hadn't seen anything.  
"/What/ are you doing," he muttered through the corner of his mouth.  
"Hiding," Wrathion replied. "I don't feel like doing anything today."  
"You're /terrible/."  
"And?"  
"I'm not abetting this."  
"Yes you are."  
"/No/," Anduin hissed, "I'm not. Right's almost as bald as Left for pulling her hair out and Left herself looks as tightly strung as her own crossbow. You're going to /tell/ them you want to retire and-"

"My Prince, who are you talking to?"  
Anduin startled, turning to look at his guard with a smile. "Uh, my father. We have, uh, magic. Magic to talk to each other."  
It was a poorly /worded/ excuse, but an otherwise sound one; the guard nodded emphatically. "My apologies, your Highness. I didn't realise it was royal business."

Well, royal business wasn't exactly /wrong/. Dealing with a royal /pain/ would perhaps be more accurate...

"Fine," Anduin mumbled. "I'll get you back to my room. Stick your head back in and stay /quiet/. No more smart comments."

Wrathion huffed, but, apparently finding this acceptable, poked his head back into the bag and stayed there as Anduin scooped it up. He waved a hand to his guards;

"I'm just going to my room, don't worry about it. I don't need to look for Wrathion seeing as," he raised his voice, "I found him in my bag."

The smugness in Anduin Wrynn's grin was only matched by the irritation in Wrathion's glare as Anduin handed him over by the scruff of his neck to Left. "If I don't get to shirk my duties, you don't get to shirk yours either."  
Wrathion huffed. "I was /going/ to suggest we spend some time /together/," he muttered, "but clearly you're too much of a /goody two shoes/."  
It was a well-worn insult, and Anduin didn't react to it. "Later this evening, Wrathion. And maybe /without/ making everyone search for you like you're a lost pet this time..."


	2. Chapter 2

Wrathion hated the window to Anduin's room.

It didn't matter what room he meant - the one at the keep in Stormwind was the worst, but the one at Lion's Landing was almost as bad, and while the one at the Tavern in the Mists was of /course/ by far the best, it was still beginning to be a painful squeeze.

Right now, it was the window at Lion's Landing.

And it was /raining/, and he was /stuck/.

He'd been growing far more than he could ever have realistically anticipated recently, and it was proving far more irritating than advantageous at this stage. Everything was happening all /wrong/. He wasn't supposed to grow past the size of a medium rodent until he was at /least/ a decade old, and here he was, aged three and a half, and the size of a large dog.

He'd wriggled his head into the gap he'd used so many times to access Anduin's bed for a nap when he needed some time away from, well... /everything/ except for the Prince himself, and managed to get his shoulders stuck. That was another problem, as well. His entire bone structure was becoming less malleable, more solid as he grew; and, paradoxically, simultaneously more delicate. His previously flexible cartilage-made skeleton was solidifying rapidly into solid joints designed to carry the sheer weight of a fully-grown drake when he wasn't even out of his whelphood yet.

So where previously his collarbones might have given way to allow him to squeeze in, now, he was thoroughly unable to move forwards. And with his almost awkwardly large horns (at least for his size), the four of them regal yet ultimately unyieldy, he couldn't move /backwards/ either. So. He was stuck.

He braced his paws against the window frame and tried to pull backwards, but found the pain at the base of his horns grew too painful to bear long before the window frame gave way. He tried the other way, trying to barge forwards with his shoulders, but /that/ didn't work. Well and truly stuck.

He began to panic. His wings fluttered helplessly, occasionally batting against the windowpane; it was /cold/ out here. He could /die/! He could feel his heat seeping away from his scales with every freezing raindrop that hit them, and every gust of wind which threatened to catch his wings and slam his body against the wall. His weight was significant enough now that such a thing could hurt him significantly; even break a bone or two. He never thought he'd say it, but... he missed being small.

A noise ahead of him distracted him from his plight. The door opened, and... oh, no. Was it possible to die from shame? Wrathion felt like he was about to find out.

"Wrathion." Anduin's tone was equal parts amused, irritated, and utterly confused. "/What/ are you doing?"  
"What does it /look/ like?" the whelp snapped, no patience for smart comments. "I'm being /stuck/. Are you going to help me, or not?"  
"Well, you do make a rather nice wall ornament there," Anduin grinned as he approached Wrathion, leaning heavily with each step on his cane. "But probably a little bit too annoying to be a permanent installation."

He leaned against the windowsill as he reached over to unwedge the window panes from either side of Wrathion's neck. Wrathion gave a whelpish croak of pain as the two halves of the window were scraped along his scales, flapping his wings frantically again and flailing as they pressured his neck enough to cut off his breathing for a half-second before he was finally freed. He flustered fowards into the room, knocking Anduin over and making straight for the roof to nurse his injuries from the rafters, only to find he'd grown too big to fit in /that/ gap too and eventually settling for sulking on top of Anduin's wardrobe.

The priest picked himself up off the floor with muttered curses to close the window and stop the rain from coming in. "You're a horrid nuisance," he glared at Wrathion - to no response.


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you sure this is safe, Anduin?"

"Father, it's no different than riding a gryphon. I'll be fine."

Wrathion seemed to disagree. He snorted smoke, rolling his shoulders underneath the harness and continually shifting his weight under both King and Prince's scrutiny. He knew he'd agreed to let Anduin ride him when he'd reached this size, but... well, he wasn't so sure it would be quite so /soon/ when he'd agreed to that. He'd thought that perhaps Anduin would be dead before that happened, but apparently he was mistaken, because here was not only Anduin but Varian, too. The King's hair had begun to grey at the temples, and Anduin was notably taller than he was when Wrathion had first met him - evidently catching up with the growth that he'd lost in the bell incident almost a decade ago now.

Left had reported the results of her research - that the lack of other dragonkin in the area had accelerated Wrathion's growth well beyond what was normal, his body making a desperate bid to prepare itself for repopulating his Flight. It was a task it would never be suitable for, considering its chimaeric nature, but it certainly didn't hurt that he was no longer the easiest kidnapping target on Azeroth.

And maybe, he hoped, he could bond a little with Anduin by taking him on a ride. Not a flight yet - his wings were still catching up to his /own/ weight, leaving him groundbound for often weeks at a time as the growing pains wracked his wings. But a trip about the forest, perhaps a little rock-hopping. That would be alright.

Anduin approached him by the side, ducking under his wing as it stretched out in his direction and grabbing onto the saddle with both hands. "Behave yourself," he muttered, "or my father will never let us leave his sight." Wrathion ruffled his crests discontentedly, then settled down and let Anduin clamber atop him. The prince strapped his legs in on either side of the gangly drake's sides, grateful to the leatherworker for the extra padding on the side of his bad leg, and smiled at his father. "You have to admit, Father. You always wanted me to strike fear into the hearts of my enemies."  
"I'm not a /prop/, you know," Wrathion interjected, rearing up a little to test how Anduin's weight rested on him. Anduin yelped and leaned fowards, holding onto the pommels at the front of the harness (there were no reigns, of course; Wrathion was capable of directing the two of them himself).

Varian, to their surprise, laughed. "You're sure frightening /me/."  
"Sorry, Father. /Wrathion/, settle down."  
"I /told/ you," he huffed, "I'm not here as some prop so you can demonstrate your /personal development/ to your father. Can't we /go/ already? I want to see the forest."  
"I'm glad you're not," Anduin scoffed. "You'd make a dreadful mount. Wouldn't he, Father?"  
"Almost as disobedient as I was at his age," Varian grinned.  
"/You/ weren't expected to carry blond-haired princes around on your back like some royal /pack animal/."  
The king laughed. "Yes, I was. I'll never get over how /bossy/ Arthas was, you know."

Varian missed the way Anduin flinched, but Wrathion didn't. He snorted smoke and stretched his neck a little. "Well, regardless, we are /leaving/. Anduin, do try to sit /still/."  
"I'm sitting perfectly still!"  
"No you aren't! That /behind/ of yours is always /fidgetting/. You'll make me fall over!"  
"Wrathion, you've got four legs and a set of /vestigal wings/ to keep you upright. Me trying to get /comfy/ won't make you fall!"  
"A-/ha/! So you /do/ admit you were moving!"  
"Uggghh, shut /up/!" Despite his words, Anduin laughed, the sound pleasing to Wrathion's ears. "Come on, before you make any more of a fool out of yourself in front of my father."  
"Make a fool of /myself/? Make a fool of /you/, more like..."  
"I hate you," the blond replied with affection as Wrathion finally began to lope his way out of the preparation field.  
"And I you, my dearest."


End file.
